How to tow a Datsun
by Hunting Osprey
Summary: In the aftermath of a mission gone wrong Prowl suffers the consequences of neglecting his health while in the company of Jazz, the Twins and the Wreckers.
1. How to tow a Datsun

A/N: This just blindsided me this morning and I couldn't get rid of it, it's partly inspired by the JazzProwl Wrekers dynamic in Vrigo1's master collection of Wreckers stories: What's Wrong with a Little Destruction. Necessary back story: Jazz, Prowl and the twins have been on a mission with the Wreckers, they got their collected afts handed to them and are now on their way home.

I don't own them and I am soooo sorry about this folks!

x

x

"Jaaaazzzzz." Prowl's voice was almost a whine as it floated into the Xantium's rec room, causing all the mechs in there to stop what they were doing and stare at each other in confusion.

"Prowl." Jazz's voice had a distinctly annoyed edge to it.

"You do realise that this is treason?" Prowl snapped back

"So have me court-marshalled." Jazz didn't sound fazed by the accusation.

"And insubordination of the highest sort." Prowl continued.

"So toss me in the brig." Jazz sounded bored, more than anything else.

"I order you to cease this nonsense immediately and release me," Prowl barked in his best 'do as the seconded in command says' voice.

The footsteps which had gradually been drawing closer to the rec room door stopped.

"Prowl." Jazz's tone was calm, even. "I don't care that my actions could be classed as treason, assaulting a ranking officer, insubordination, over reaching my authority or any one of the other things you've put down on my charge sheet; I remind you again that you're relived of command and rank on the grounds of being medically unfit for duty?"

"On what possible pretext and evidence?" Prowl demanded.

Jazz gave a long suffering sigh and said, "Mental and physical exhaustion. I know you went through the entire five solar cycles worth of constant fighting without getting more than a joor's worth of recharge, and you've been working for the last five shifts straight through, and if that kind of stunt is a good enough excuse for Ratchet to declare Prime unfit it's glitching well good enough for me to do the same to you."

The assembled Wreckers looked at each other in amazement and then stared at the twins, who just shrugged, as confused and amused as their hosts.

"You are going to leave that slagging analysis alone, clean the mud, dust and energon off your paintwork; even if I have to tie you to the wash rack walls and scrub you clean," Jazz carried on in the same too calm tone "Then you're going to the repair bay so Spin can check out all these tears in your wings and Primus knows what other damage you're hiding, and if necessary I will sit on you to keep you there until you get medical clearance to leave. And finally if I have to disconnect your main data cables you will get two _full_ recharge cycles before I even consider reinstating you. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir!" Prowl spat the words out and then went back to a pleading tone "But must you tow me around by my wings like an errant sparkling? Allow me some dignity, please."

"When you stop behaving like a spoiled sparkling I'll stop treating you like one." Jazz's voice was firm and patient, like a tutor to a bright but wayward pupil.

The Wreckers and their guests crowded into the doorway of the rec room as the footsteps resumed their determined march in the direction of the wash rack. The sight that greeted their optics made those who had face masks very glad of the fact. Marching down the corridor, face grim and visor flashing, was Jazz; walking slightly sideways due to the fact one hand had a death grip on Prowl's left door wing. He was literally dragging the Datsun backwards down the corridor by said appendage, Prowl, on the other hand, was leaning the opposite way from his tormentor, trying to break Jazz's grip on the wing so he could get away.

As they came level with the door, Prowl flung out a hand and grabbed Springer's arm, causing Jazz to come to an abrupt stop and spin round as he suddenly found himself trying to tow the triple changer's mass as well.

"Springer," Prowl pleaded, "this is your ship, your command; please tell him to let me go back to work."

Springer summoned up all his reserves of self control and experience at keeping a straight face regardless of the circumstances, and flashed a quick look at Jazz, who glared back.

"Sorry, Prowl." Springer managed to put a fair amount of sincerity into his voice "He ranks me, and it seems he ranks you to at the moment. And as the, ah, situation isn't directly threatening the wellbeing of my crew, I can't do anything, you know, rules and protocols and suchlike prohibit me from interfering."

He slipped his arm out of Prowl's grip and stepped back out of range of another grab.

"I'll be waiting for you in the repair bay, sir," Spin said respectfully to Jazz.

Jazz nodded at him and resumed towing the exhausted, battered and dishevelled tactician towards his fate.

As the bulkhead doors closed behind a sullen looking Prowl, the assembled Autobots let the laughter they had been suppressing flow freely. In very short order, the best strike force that Optimus Prime had, and his two finest melee warriors, were reduced to helplessly quivering piles on the floor.

"Oh, Primus," Whirl got out. "Springer, that was just..."

"Priceless" Sideswipe finished gasping

Sandstorm suddenly staggered to his feet and fell on the nearest console and began pounding the keyboard furiously.

"Uh, Sandy?" Scoop asked from his position on the floor.

Sandstorm looked at them, pure wicked delight shining from his optics and a predatory grin spreading across his face.

"Well, don't you want to see the start of the argument?" he asked as the security recording logs opened on the screen before him.

There was a thoughtful silence before, with a swiftness that would have had any observing physicist wonder if it was possible for an unassisted mech to break the light speed barrier, everyone was crowded round the terminal, their optics glued to the screen.


	2. How to push a Porsche

A/N: Many, many thanks to RumbleStrip for beta reading this, any remaining mistakes are entierly mine.

Dragon: Poor Prowl was just so desperate that it was an 'any port in a storm' kinda thing.

x

x

Jazz lent against the doorframe scrutinizing Prowls every movement. The tactician was sitting at his desk, reading a report and Jazz could see his attention wavering more and more frequently.

"Prowl." Jazz drawled

"Jazz." Prowl sighed, not looking up at the Porsche.

"Do ya know what time it is?" Jazz asked, innocence dripping off each word.

"13.57 exactly, ship's time." Prowl responded absently as he reached for another data pad.

Jazz shook his head and walked into the office, stopping in front of Prowl's desk.

"Good, 'cause that's what I make it." Jazz told the top of Prowl's helmet.

Prowl didn't pause in his reading and it seemed to Jazz that he was being studiously ignored.

"And that being the case, I figure it's been about five shifts since we crawled back here." Jazz commented conversationally.

Prowl made a sound of annoyance and reached for another data pad before glancing up at Jazz, and in a voice vibrating with sarcasm said "Congratulations Jazz, not only is your internal chronometer working flawlessly but you can work out the shift rotations un aided as well. Someone give the mech a badge for mathematical excellence."

Jazz gave a huff of exasperation and shot back "That means in the last six and a half solar cycles you haven't managed one full recharge cycle."

"That is irrelevant." Prowl muttered.

"I'm sure Ratchet would be interested in that perspective." Jazz said sweetly.

"Ratchet can go and insert his opinion so far up his exhaust, that only a full system rebuild could find it!" Prowl spat out "I have more important things to worry about than a certain overbearing, autocratic, capricious medical officer's opinions on my work schedule."

"Really?" Jazz questioned.

"Yes! And if you have nothing more helpful than idle chit chat to offer, I strongly suggest you take a long walk out of a short boarding tube!" Prowl snapped.

Jazz thinned his lips and glared at the tactician who had returned to his data pads. If Prowl was being this short and sarcastic it meant he was operating right on the limit of his endurance. He ran his visor over Prowl's body, noting that his paintwork was obscured by a layer of dust and mud, the panels of his door wings were shredded and caked in dried energon, most of which Jazz was fairly sure had once belonged to Prowl and that he was favouring his right side in a manner which told of un-repaired damage.

"You going to see 'Spin some time soon?" Jazz asked pointedly.

"He's busy." Prowl replied a shade too nonchalantly for Jazzes liking.

"He was," Jazz agreed "about three shifts ago."

"I'm busy." Prowl said exasperated.

"You're working yourself to deactivation." Jazz told him, tone icy with disapproval.

"I don't care for your tone mister." Prowl said curtly.

"And I don't care for you neglecting your health" Jazz flared back "Leave this slag alone and get yourself seen to."

Prowls head snapped up and he fixed Jazz with the full force of his glare.

"Watch what your saying or you'll find yourself in the brig on charges of insubordination." Prowl said warningly.

"Oh for Primus sake! Drop the slagging rules and regs act you tight aft!" Jazz exclaimed.

"And moderate your language." Prowl barked.

Jazz fumed silently for a few minutes, his stance tense, as Prowl looked back down at his documents.

"Look at it this way _sir_," Jazz wheedled "if you get cleaned up, fixed and take a recharge cycle, you can come back to this more alert. Working while you're this run down you might miss something vital."

"Some of us are capable of considerable feats of concentration," Prowl said snidely "getting distracted by the first flashy, noisy object to come along is your speciality, not mine,"

Jazz felt his lips curl into a snarl and his hands clench into fists at the remark, he took a moment to calm and steady himself before speaking again.

"I could call Prime or Ratchet and get them to order you to go off duty." Jazz suggested with deceptive meekness.

"We're too deep into enemy territory to risk communication with the Hub." Prowl pointed out.

Squaring his shoulders and mentally bracing himself for the oncoming storm, Jazz stepped smartly up to Prowl's desk and swept all the data pads from it onto the floor.

"Last chance Prowl." Jazz declared, "Go off duty voluntarily or I'll force you to."

Prowl slammed his hands down on the desk and pushed himself to his feet, leaning across the desk he glared into Jazz's visor.

"Threatening a superior officer is a serious offence," Prowl hissed "I have ignored your behaviour, which should by rights have landed you in the brig for life, for the sake of our friendship. But one more word about my conduct and I'll come down on you with the full rigor of the law!"

They stood still, optics locked together in a mutual glare of anger for several minutes, before Jazz gave a resigned sigh.

"Ok, if that's how you want to play it," Jazz said, regret and determination in his tone as he stepped back from the desk.

"Thank you." Prowl snapped, the words had the cutting edge of a laser scalpel.

Jazz took a step forward and leapt up on to the desk, stepped over the console and dropped down in front of a very startled Prowl, who had instinctively stepped back, allowing Jazz to catch him by the shoulders and push him back against the office wall.

"Yo … You … this is assaulting a superior officer and treasonable behaviour!" Prowl stuttered out in shock as he looked in to Jazz's visor, which was only centimetres in front of his face.

Jazz replied calmly "By the authority vested in me as an officer of the Autobot army, as the head of covert operations and third in command by the direct appointment of Optimus Prime, I hear by relive you of rank, duty and privileges on the grounds that you are medically unfit to exercise such authority. This order to be effective immediately and henceforth until such time as a duly appointed panel of your peers, including, but not limited to, one fully qualified medical officer determines that you are fit to resume active duty."

Prowl's CPU struggled to process what Jazz had just done to him for a few moments.

"Very funny" Prowl finally muttered as he tried to squirm out of Jazz's grip "Now release me immediately and we'll say no more about this entire incident."

"I'm not joking Prowl." Jazz replied, keeping Prowl pinned to the wall by his shoulders "Your choice, either hit the wash racks and then go the repair bay voluntarily, or I'll drag you there by your wings."

Prowl drew himself up as far as possible under the saboteurs hold, narrowed his optics and with as much righteous indignation as he could muster snapped, "You wouldn't dare!"

Jazz's visor flared indigo with anger and he left go of Prowl's shoulders. Prowl had just begun to allow a smug smile of victory to form on his face before he felt Jazz clamp a hand on to his left door wing, inserting some fingers into the tears so as to get a good grip. Prowl let out a startled yelp of pain as Jazz pulled on the wing hard enough that Prowl had to follow him or suffer a dislocation.

"Let go!" Prowl cried, pain and humiliation evident in his voice.

"No" Jazz replied stubbornly walking towards the open office door, a reluctant and squirming Datsun in tow.

"Please, Jazz" Prowl begged, "I need to finish that analysis."

"It'll still be there when your reinstated," Jazz said dispassionately "we've only got one tactician and I'll be slagged if I'm gonna let him work himself into stasis over something we're not gonna need for another seven or so solar cycles."

"You are overreaching you're authority." Prowl declared hotly.

"Take it up with Prime." Jazz responded placidly.

"You can be sure I will, you insubordinate half melted pile of scrap!" Prowl snarled "I'll have you busted back to the ranks! You'll be scrubbing floors in silence for the rest of your life if I have my way!"

Jazz tuned out the rest of Prowl's tirade and prayed to Primus for patience, the rest of the trip back to the Hub was going to be very, very tedious.


	3. How to make a Helo happy

A/N: Originally I was only going write one more chapter for this, showing Prime's reaction, but then Virgo1 asked, Springer agreed and everyone else stared demanding their turn in the spotlight. So officially there is now an open invitation for requests, suggestions or outright demands for what you think I should write next in this series.

x

x

The sound of someone typing on a data pad was the first thing Prowl registered as he came back online, the second thing was that he was very firmly secured to a bunk.

"Jazz if you don't stop this charade immediately" Prowl began.

"Bzzztttt, wrong answer, thank you for playing Guess the Guard." Springer said brightly.

Prowl narrowed his optics and glared, Springer just smiled back and returned to his data pad. He was in fact only composing a letter to Hot Rod but Prowl didn't know that and Springer knew that having to watch someone else work when he couldn't was guaranteed to wind the tactician up.

"Please undo these straps and let me return to work." Prowl requested in a polite calm voice.

"Sorry Sparkling," Springer replied, hiding his widening grin behind the data pad "bosses orders, you're staying put."

"I am not a sparkling," Prowl's voice carried only a fraction of his annoyance "and since when have you played by the rules?"

"Since Jazz took to towing mechs around by delicate bits of their anatomy." Springer told him "And yes, you are a sparkling."

"Am not!" Prowl retorted sharply.

Springer gave him a pointed look and returned to his letter.

"I am a fully mature Autobot and your superior officer." Prowl said in his best cold professional tone "And I'm ordering you to release me from this illegal confinement immediately."

"No can do Sparkling," Springer only just managed to contain his glee, "Jazz ranks me, so his word goes plus" he looked up and let the grin spread across his face "Topspin, as our medic, has officially written you up as unfit for command."

Prowl's face folded itself into a sour expression and his vents began to cycle air in short shallow bursts. Springer deliberately began to type again, just to rile Prowl up even further. He knew he would pay, and dearly at that, for this later, but for now it was just too much fun to resist.

"Topspin is not a fully qualified medic." Prowl growled "And for the last time I am _not_ a sparkling."

Springer pretended to consider this for a moment and then said, "I seem to recall that you always put Spin's name down on all the paperwork as the team medic." He paused for effect and then continued in a mock serious voice, optics wide in fake horror "Don't tell me you've been lying on the official paperwork? Oh Sparkling, how could you? What ever will Prime say?"

The glare Prowl gave him was off the scale, Springer was mildly surprised that the bulkheads weren't melting under the pressure of Prowl ire. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour for the moment Springer returned to his letter, trying to find the right words to describe the current situation. He covertly studied the tactician, not liking the paleness of his face or the fact that he didn't appear to have enough energy to continue the argument.

"You hungry Sparkling?" Springer asked, rising to his feet.

"I do have a name you know." Prowl said stiffly.

"Yep, and I'm using the abbreviated form of it." Springer replied smugly.

Despite a feeling in his tank that he really didn't want to know, Prowl raised a questioning optic ridge.

"We all had a chat after your, um, public towing" Springer told him, "and we decided that your new name should be: The stubborn, irresponsible, little sparkling that poor old Jazz has to take care of. Sparkling for short."

"My name is Prowl." The tactician said, each word pronounced in a precise and clipped manner "And I would be obliged if you would use it, and yes I am hungry thank you."

"No problem, Sparkling," Springer began to walk towards the office where the energon dispenser was, looking over his shoulder he called out "don't go anywhere while I'm gone."

The office door shut behind Springer cutting off the sound of Prowl's voice, he shook his head, and mechs thought the twins had foul mouths! Springer idly wondered just where Prowl had learnt all those expressions as he filled two energon cubes, when a sudden mischievous thought sidled into his CPU and he set the full cubes on the desk and began to rummage through the storage cupboards.

Prowl had fallen silent by the time Springer returned to his side. The triple changer gave his best innocent smile and set the energon on the table.

"Well," Prowl snarled "are you going to undo these restraints and let me sit up or are you just gong to stand there smiling like an imbecile?"

_Temper, temper_ Springer thought to himself deliberately widening his grin "No." he told the helpless tactician "I'm not going to undo the straps."

"How, precisely, do you expect me to take energon flat on my back and with my hands immobilised?" Prowl asked, more irritation showing in his voice than he had intended.

In response Springer lent down and tapped a command into the med bunk control panel. Slowly the bunk began to fold up, the top half rose from the horizontal stopping at an angle of about 70 degrees. Prowl was now in a sufficiently upright pose that he wouldn't choke on the energon and still firmly secured, as the straps were an integral part of the bunk.

"All eventualities properly prepared for." Springer said not letting a hint of the laughter that was bubbling up inside out.

"In case you hadn't noticed," Prowl responded his voice icy, "I am still incapable of holding the cube with my hands bound to the bunk."

Springer's smile grew predatory and he drew an object out of a sub space pocket and displayed it to Prowl.

"NO!" Prowl yelled, "Under no conditions what so ever! Absolutely not! I refuse to allow you to subject me to such … such an indignity!"

Springer sat on the edge of the bunk and looked the tactician squarely in the optics "You get two choices, I can pop your emergency fuel port and go find a funnel to pour this into you through, or we can be grown up about this and do the more pleasant thing." He waved the object in front of Prowl's optics again.

"Or three," Prowl retorted, "you can unbind my hands and I can fuel myself like any normal mech."

"I already told you," Springer responded "Jazz's orders, and anyway he's fixed the restraints. I can't undo them. In fact the only person who can is Jazz, even the twins couldn't get them open."

Prowl stared at him mortified "You mean to tell me that everyone on this ship has seen me strapped to this bunk like some common criminal?"

"Yep," Springer confirmed, he carefully dipped the object into the energon cube and held it in front of Prowl's mouth, "now be a good little Sparkling and open up."

Prowl turned his head to one side, pressing his lips closed. Springer grinned even more widely; oh this was going to be so much fun.

Sideswipe came to an abrupt halt just inside the repair bay; Sunstreaker was about to give is twin an audio full when the scene before them registered.

"Here comes the seeker, round the asteroid, dodging the planetary defence laser's fire," Springer was saying, sat on the side of Prowl's bunk "lining up for a landing and, Sparkling you're supposed to open your mouth here."

"This whole production in unnecessary," Prowl growled, "if you must continue with this whole, thankfully private, humiliation can we please dispense with the commentary. It's bad…"

Prowl's complaint was abruptly cut off by Springer taking advantage of Prowl's open mouth to force the spoonful of energon between his lips.

"That's better, isn't it Sparkling? See only half a cube to go." Springer's voice carried a particularly patronising tone; "unfortunately I'm now off shift so we can't carry on our, interesting, conversation."

"Thank Primus for that." Prowl's response was spark felt.

"But I'm sure the next mech on guard duty will be more than happy to oblige," Springer carried on guilelessly, not looking over his shoulder to were the twins were collapsed in silent hysterics "wouldn't you Sunstreaker? Sideswipe?"

"S…sure Springer," Sideswipe stuttered out, clambering unsteadily to his feet and staggering across the room to the bunk, "Hi Sparkling, having fun?"

Prowl's face was a frozen picture of horrified, mortified embarrassment.


	4. How to decorate for a Sparkling

A/N: The twins take a turn in the limelight as requested by Dragon of Dispair. Sorry for the long wait but Christmas/New year was a bit busy this time out.

Dragowolf: Don't worry Blue's gonna get in on the act later, Datsun's of the Hub unite! You have nothing to loose but the other Autobots sanity!

For all who wanted to see it, the first instalment of Prowl's Revenge is coming soon.

x

x

Sunstreaker knew his brother was up to something. A surge of unholy glee had rippled through their bond earlier and Sideswipe had been gone far too long to just be finding a funnel. Prowl had point blank refused to allow either of them to spoon feed him, so Sunstreaker had modified Springer's method and between them he and Sideswipe had argued, annoyed and confused Prowl into talking, and the moment he'd opened his mouth they'd filled it with a spoonful of energon. Unfortunately it seemed that rest, repairs and regular energon had restored Prowl's mental capacity and he had refused to respond to anything they had said or done this time round. This left the twins only one option for getting energon into the tactician, opening his emergency fuel port and pouring the energon in. They'd split more than half a cube before Sideswipe had left in search of a funnel.

Sunstreaker gave his twin a long searching look as he bounced through the door, a fresh energon cube held in one hand and brandishing a funnel in the other. There was no hint of planned mischief on his face but the glint in his optics made Sunstreaker slightly unsettled. Wasting no more time, Sunstreaker leaned over and snatched the funnel from his twins grip and inserted it into the valve with a little bit more force than was strictly necessary. Prowl flinched and then glared at him but made no sound. As Sideswipe began to pour the energon in, Prowl stiffened and offlined his optics, presenting the very picture of martyred endurance and patience, any lingering doubts Sunstreaker had about Sideswipe's intentions were blown away a breem later when Prowl suddenly went limp and the reading on the med bunk indicated he was offline.

"What have you done?" Sunstreaker demanded.

"Relax my Distrusting Daffodil of Doom," Sideswipe grinned, dodging the half sparked blow Sunstreaker aimed at his head "it's just a little sedative in his energon, enough to keep him under for the rest of our watch."

"Why?" Sunstreaker asked suspiciously. He could feel Sideswipe's rising amusement and the gleam in his optics was growing more noticeable.

For an answer Sideswipe left the room, returning after half a breem with a large box stuffed with paint tins, brushes, thin wire, craft tools and an assortment of thin metal sheets in a rainbow of colours.

"Well," Sideswipe said, a wide grin splitting his face "it struck me that Sparkling here must get very bored staring at these plain walls all day."

Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge at his twin; he thought he knew where this was going.

"So, I thought we could, maybe… brighten it up a bit for him." Sideswipe finished, and he let Sunstreaker see what he had in mind through their bond.

A wicked grin split Sunstreaker's face. He looked over the recumbent form of his former CO with an artist's optics and consideration before reaching for a tin of paint.

Scoop came into the repair bay at a jog; he was late for his shift of Prowl-watching. Someone had been through all the storage holds and messed up the cargo manifests, he and Road Buster had spent a lot of time setting it all back to rights.

"Sorry I'm late guys." Scoop called out.

There was no reply and as he came to the door of the room where Prowl was, he saw someone had hung up a sign:

Silence, Sparkling recharging inside.

Grinning, Scoop walked through the door and nearly swallowed his vocalizer at the state of the room.

The ceiling was now midnight blue, decorated with gold and silver stars, mimicking the constellations as they would look from Praxus. Suspended from the ceiling were a number of mobiles made from wire and thin coloured metal shapes, which chimed softly as they danced in the breeze from the air vents. The walls sported little frescos of scenes from Cybertronian myths and stories, in beautiful calligraphy across three sides of the room ran the complete Cybertronian alphabet.

Scoop admired the décor and wondered which twin had done what, before allowing himself to contemplate the undoubted masterpiece of the collection, Prowl himself. He was painted crest to toe in a pastel light blue, onto which, with painstaking attention to detail, figures of native animals, and more figures from legend and miniature portraits of Autobots both in robot and alternate mode had been painted.

The twins were nowhere to be seen but a note had been left, tucked under the corner of an empty energon cube. Scoop picked it up and read it. Laughing quietly to himself he sat down in the large battered soft chair that had been moved in to wait for Prowl to come back online.

Topspin was catching up on his own paperwork and stock taking when he heard a scream from the direction of Prowl's room. He started towards the room when he clearly heard Prowl yelling the twin's names and a litany of threats, curses, and comments on their possible ancestry, their likely personal habits and their probable life expectancy. Deciding that some things he just didn't want to know he returned to his desk, mulling over Prowl's words he concluded that whatever else two things were certain; this wouldn't be the last time the twins pulled some kind of stunt on Prowl and, when it came, Prowl's revenge would be terrible, utter and complete.


	5. How to settle some scores

A/N: For all those who asked for it: Prowl shows his nasty side!

**theshadowcat:** I think everyone's life expectancy just got cut really short.

**Misao-CG:** Please do, by the end of this the boys are going to need all the hugs they can get.

**Arjemix: **Your mind is cruel, my mind is (very) twisted and evil and we both thought the same thing. Given what Jazz has Spin do to Prowl after this Ratchet's gonna wind up with a small mountain of the stuff to have hysterics over.

With many thanks to my beta reader RumbleStrip

x

x

Prowl glared at Jazz's back as he left the room, maintaining the 'I'm only co-operating to preserve my dignity' act until he was sure the other mech was out of audio range, before he slumped back on the bunk and laughed. Jazz had finally decided that he didn't need to be watched every breem of every joor and it was the opportunity Prowl had been waiting and plotting for since he came back online.

Yes it was petty, Prowl conceded in the privacy of his own CPU, and yes, it was below anything even the twins would do and most unbecoming of an officer and a gentlemech but right now he didn't care. He was going to have a measure of revenge on his tormentors, here and now, when they least expected it, and the most beautiful thing about it was that none of them would suspect him. With considerable care and control he extended one of his data transfer cables from its compartment in his neck, sending it questing down the side of the bunk until it located the control panel. Primus must have been smiling down on him because he found the remote diagnostic socket almost immediately. Hearing the jack go home with a satisfying click, Prowl set his face into a neutral expression and offlined the routines that controlled physical movement, if anyone looked in he would appear to be recharging peacefully, not that anyone was going to have time to look in on him but it paid to be prepared. He glared at the ceiling in the direction of the bridge and in the silence of his CPU whispered _let the games begin._

Springer stared into space, his processor churning over recent developments. They were nearly back into Autobot space, miraculously without being discovered by any 'Con patrols, Prowl had finally decided to be a cooperative inmate of the repair bay and none of the trouble makers onboard had done anything to anyone for nearly a full solar cycle. It was too good to last.

It didn't.

The blaring of Xantium's proximity alarm had him bolt upright in the command chair, glaring at the tactical display on the screen. Three Decepticon battle cruisers had swung out from the shadow of a large asteroid and were forming up to blow Xantium into the matrix.

"Whirl, engines to full, evasive manoeuvres." Springer snapped "Scoop, bring the weapons online."

The bridge was a storm of activity as Wreckers scrambled for their combat posts and Jazz and the twins found seats out of the way. Springer kept both optics on the screen, watching as two of the pursuing ships pulled wide and began gaining on them, trying to box them in so the third one could get a clear shot.

"Dive right!" Springer instructed Whirl "We need to get out of the box."

A grunt of acknowledgement was the only response but Springer could see Xantium's path changing to a breakaway manoeuvre they'd used in the past to escape similar ambushes. This time however, it didn't look like it was going to work. The two flanking cruisers moved to block them off and the ship shuddered as a very close shot passed underneath her keel.

"That was close, but no damage." Twist called from the engineering station.

Whirl was cursing at the low end of his vocaliser as every stunt and tactic he and Springer tried was countered by the 'Con ships, which were rapidly gaining on them. Scoop and Sandstorm were having no luck in hitting the other ships, although there had been several near misses there as well.

Xantium heaved and bucked, throwing everyone to the floor, the lights flickered and an alarm screamed for a few seconds before Twist regained his seat and silenced it.

"Slag!" Twist exclaimed, checking his board "Hull breach in the repair bay."

"Do you have a reading on Prowl?" Spin asked, worry for his patient colouring his voice.

"He's fine," Twist responded "sealed off and out of touch but not in immediate danger."

"Missile lock!" Scoop yelled, "Deploying counters, brace for impact!"

The ship shuddered as the concussion wave from the missile's close detonation passed over the hull, but no new alarms sounded. Springer looked back at the tactical screen as Jazz came up behind him.

"A straight forward run for it would be my choice." Jazz whispered into one of Springer's audios "We can't shake 'em or hit em, but we can outpace em, and once we're closer to friendly space they might break off rather than risk a bigger confrontation."

Springer nodded reluctantly, as much as it was tactical sense he hated running from a fight. He was just about to give the order when a warbling noise drew his attention.

"What the!" Broadside did a double take at his screen and then looked up, face grim "We've got visitors in sector 6."

"How many?" Jazz asked, pulling his pistol out of subspace.

"Four," Broadside replied "one of whom must be Skywarp cause they've just disappeared from there and reappeared outside the repair bay."

"Slag!" Jazz swore, "Keep me informed of their movements. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker you're with me, let's nail the glitches."

The next three joors passed excruciatingly slowly. Jazz and the twins spent a joor chasing around Xantium after the visiting 'cons, who eluded sighting and succeeded in inflicting enough damage to the engines that Xantium began to slow, allowing the pursing ship to catch her. It was a time of transistor breaking tension, watching the distance between the border and safety slowly decrease, as the distance between them and the 'Cons decreased much more quickly. The arrival of two fast interceptor class ships only added to the level of stress on the bridge, as they were stalked by the 'Cons like a predator stalks an injured animal. They were just shy of the border when all the 'Con ships opened fire. Whirl threw her into a desperate evasive but she answered her helm too slowly and took massive hits to the engine compartments.

"We're drifting!" Whirl yelled as he wrestled with the fitfully working console.

"RB, what are we going to hit?" Springer asked.

"With this course and this rate of drift, the remains of some nebula." Roadbuster announced.

Sandstorm whooped as he not only managed to get his gunnery console working but hit the smaller interceptor dead in the magazine, blowing it into atoms. Under cover of the explosion, Whirl managed to get just enough working to bring Xantium down in a controlled crash on one of the larger asteroids that littered the nebula.

The 'Cons spread out, searching through the clouds of gas and dust in a pattern that looked familiar to Jazz. He stared at the display for a long moment before leaping to his feet and stalking forward to examine it up close.

"The slagging pit spawned creation of an ice glitch!" Jazz whispered, but the heat in his voice silenced conversation and gained the full attention of every mech on the bridge, "Springer, tell me what you see."

"Four 'Con ships operating in a classic search pattern." Springer said after a moment's hesitation.

"No, Springer, look at it, really look at it." Jazz instructed "And tell me what you see."

Springer scrutinised the display closely "Four Decepticon ships in a …" he trailed off, optics widening and then continued "in … a … classic, Jazz tell me I'm wrong."

"Four 'Con ships using a classic _Autobot_ search and rescue pattern." Jazz finished for Springer "You're not wrong. The glitch! I knew I shouldn't have left him unwatched. Where's the nearest port I can connect to?"

"Uh?" was all the response Springer could muster.

"What's my job, Springer?" Jazz asked in a dangerously soft voice.

"Head of special ops?" Springer replied nervously, the icy calm Jazz was displaying frightened him more than anything else ever had.

"That's ma title," Jazz said "what's my job, ma real job?"

Springer thought hard and ventured "Saboteur?"

"Correct. Little known fact: most of Prowl's battle plans come across ma desk. It's part of ma job to see if I can put holes in 'em, and I've got good at doin' it. I need a jack to plug into the computer so I can knock him out and reset all the stuff he's gonna have fragged."

"Is it safe?" Sunstreaker asked having worked out what was going on.

"No. But I'm good at sneaking, and we both had the same mech teach us how to hack so it's a levelish field." Jazz told him as Springer pulled open a panel, exposing an input jack.

Hiding in a corner of Xantium's computer, Prowl considered his next move. It had been fun watching Jazz and the twins chase after sensor ghosts, and he'd nearly laughed himself out of the uplink as he'd trapped Sideswipe in the washrack and coated him in a thick layer of coolant. He'd made several copies of the image of Sunstreaker after he'd been tipped into the environmental system's sludge tank, although Prowl did feel slightly guilty at not having checked the acidity of the tank first. It had been a bit high and large areas of Sunstreaker's paint sported acid burns where he'd been unable to clean the muck off fast enough. Prowl suffered no such guilt pangs at trapping Jazz in the cargo lift and bouncing him between floors, he was impressed at Jazz's agility, most of the time he'd hit the walls, ceiling and floor of the lift with his feet but the few dents the other landings had left were impressive. It had done his sense of tactical superiority no end of good to thwart every evasive tactic and trick Springer had tried, but it was now time to end the game before he got caught. He allowed the electronic ghost ships to drift further away from the ship, apparently searching the other side of the nebula. He was just about to drop them off the screens and sensors when he felt an electronic equivalent of a tap on the shoulder, and a message tagged with Jazz's personal ID arrived in his processor

_Say goodnight, Sparkling_

And Prowl knew no more.


	6. How to flip out flyers

A/N: as requested by Friend of Leo: Sliverbolt & First Aid receive disturbing news from the front line courtesy of Fireflight & Sandstorm.

**Misao-CG**: The sparkling, I mean our beloved, respected, talented and revered tactician Prowl thanks you for the energon, but politely requests that you not give the author any more sugar as it's bad for everyone else health.

**Truth of Barricade**: Well that makes two of us who have No Idea where this is going, but it promises to be an interesting journey.

**P.A.W.07**: They may be back in friendly space but they're still a long way from home.

**Kaekokat:** Ponders idea for a later chapter as Jazz and Prowl make a bid for freedom.

Everyone who wants to see Prowl get even without getting caught: don't worry he's working on it.

x

x

First Aid dropped exhaustedly down onto his chair, swung his feet up onto the table and slumped back as far as the chair would go. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Preceptor and he had been worked off their feet by a joke gone sour. Air Raid and Slingshot had crossed a few lines down in the lower levels of the Hub, intending simply to coat the first officer unfortunate enough to use the officer's wash rack in oil and grease. Unfortunately, they'd mixed up the wrong lines and contaminated two thirds of the energon dispensers in the mess hall, resulting in a repair bay flooded with mechs in various stages of fuel poisoning. The last of the victims was now resting quietly, his systems finally purged and his self-repair dealing with the remaining damage. First Aid had offered to stay on duty for the next shift and watch the bay while the others got some desperately needed recharge. Picking up a cube of mid grade, which he'd carefully checked for contamination, First Aid looked up at the ceiling and silently implored Primus for a quiet shift. With the Twins, Jazz and the Wreckers out on a mission and Air Raid and Slingshot being hauled over the reactor by Prime, it looked like his request might actually be granted.

First Aid passed the first half of his shift in blissful silence, occasionally checking on a mech who had initially responded poorly to treatment and struggling to update all the records and paperwork this episode had generated, he was just contemplating going for his third cube when a red light on the communication panel informed him of a priority message.

First Aid sighed and opened the line "Repair bay, Firs…"

"'AID? HELP!" Sliverbolt screamed, cutting the medic off mid sentence.

First Aid stared at the speaker. Panic had driven Silverbolt's voice up two octaves and speeded it up so he sounded more like Blur than the stoically calm leader of the Aerialbots.

"It's Flight," Silverbolt continued, his voice getting more frantic as he continued "he's, I, I don't know. I tried calling him and didn't get a response so I, I came over and he didn't answer the door and, and he's curled up in a ball shaking and I think he may have been poisoned!"

A hideous noise erupted in the background; a shrieking wailing sound that grated on the audios and sent shivers down the struts. Only a mech in unbearable agony would make such a noise and First Aid wasted no more time on words. Grabbing the necessary equipment, he sprinted for Fireflight's quarters.

Skidding round a corner, First Aid found Skydive lurking worriedly in the corridor. As he ran beside the medic Skydive blurted out "He's stopped screaming but he's just babbling nonsense."

"What has he said?" First Aid asked as they came to 'Flight's door.

"He stammered something about Prowl, tried to tell us something about Jazz and the Twins," Skydive responded, "but he fell back into a screaming fit. Then he shrieked Sandstorm's name and waved in the direction of his computer terminal."

"Sounds like delirium, probably a side affect of the poisoning. Has he purged his tanks?" First Aid enquired, projecting his 'trust me I'm a medic' aura as hard as he could, noting the calming influence it was having on the jet.

Skydive mutely shook his head as the pair entered 'Flight's quarters to find Sliverbolt crouched on the floor, gently cradling the offline body of his teammate.

"He couldn't cool his systems fast enough," Silverbolt's voice was flat with fear.

First Aid dropped to his knees beside the pair and ran a scanner over the inert form of Fireflight. He checked the readings twice not believing what he saw, then checked the calibration of the scanner, testing it by checking Silverbolt and finally rescanned Flight.

"No sign of fuel poisoning," First Aid reassured the two online aerials "in fact, except for a raised level of strontium in his coolant stream, indicating he's been over stressing it, there's nothing physically wrong with him."

"But that noise, all the screaming and twitching, something must have caused it." Silverbolt protested.

"A virus perhaps?" Slingshot asked, gesturing to the still open communication program on the computer terminal "He did keep saying Sandstorm's name, maybe he sent him a message that had a virus in it?"

Silverbolt's optics flared at the thought "The treacherous, low life, slag-sucking, glitch of a triple changer! I'll have his transformation cog as a paperweight and his spark case as a box for washers!"

First Aid recoiled slightly at the force of the big jet's rage. Few bots ever saw Silverbolt like this and it wasn't an experience he wanted to continue having.

"It, umm, it was just a suggestion." Skydive's voice filled the tense silence.

"Only one way to test it." First Aid said getting to his feet and walking towards the computer console.

"'Aid, no!" the shout came from both jets simultaneously.

"It's too risky," Skydive continued "we don't have any idea what the virus might do, I mean, just look at what happened to Flight."

"Relax," First Aid reassured them "I've got better firewalls and anti-virus protocols than any three non-medical mechs. A necessary precaution if you're a medic. I wouldn't be much use if every time someone came in with a virus I caught it, would I?"

Skydive traded a long look with Silverbolt before reluctantly moving out of First Aid's way. Bringing all his firewalls up to their maximum levels, he made a secure encrypted backup of the last days worth of memories and activated his anti-virus routines. As confident of his own safety as he could be, First Aid sat down at the console and triggered a replay of the last message.

Sandstorm's face appeared on the monitor; with his battle mask retracted they could see he was working hard to suppress the grin that made the edges of his mouth twitch up at the corners.

"Hi 'Flight," Sandstorm began, amusement even more evident in his voice "make sure you're alone and in your quarters before you play the attached. Prowl's gonna have us slowly, painfully and publicly dismantled when we get back and while I want you to know why, I think you should keep it to yourself." The smile finally broke free of Sandstorm's control "For now anyway."

The screen went blank except for an icon denoting an attached video file.

"Well, nothing but implied mischief there." First Aid said with relief "Although just what they've been up to that's got Prowl so worked up, I'm not sure I want to know."

The two jets murmured their agreement; the three of them looked at each other and then at the still inert body of Flight cradled gently in Silverbolt's arms, then back at the computer screen.

"On the other hand," Silverbolt ventured "we need to check that it's not really a virus, and Sandstorm did say he needed an independent, uninvolved witness to what ever it is that's happened."

"Never let it be said we failed to help the mech our brother is deeply involved with in his hour of need." Skydive offered.

"Never let it be said we refused any Autobots aid when they needed it." First Aid declared.

Skydive got up and relocked the door to Flight's quarters "We can't risk exposing anyone else to a potential virus, can we?"

Silverbolt gently laid Flight on the deck before crossing to the bunk and making himself comfortable on it. Skydive joined him a moment later, manoeuvring to get a comfortable spot and a good view of the screen.

"OK," First aid told them "but officially I'm advising against this on medical grounds, just in case it really is a virus."

"Play the movie, 'Aid." There was a rare note of mischief in Silverbolt's voice.

The screen went white and in Sunstreaker's unmistakable elegant script, Prowl's name appeared, followed underneath by what they could only assume were supposed to be creation and deactivation dates and the words:

In (dis)respectful memory.

A moment later Spin's voice could be heard reading an entry from the medical log.

Two joors later, First Aid finally got enough control over his vocalizer to ask, "You two OK?"

Skydive could only nod, his vents still wheezing as he desperately tried to cool his systems, optics dim as exhaustion pushed him towards recharge.

Silverbolt had more stamina than Skydive, if not as much control as First Aid, and got out "Uh huh."

"Do you think if we were to anonymously broadcast that to the 'Cons they might be so helpless from laughing that we could just stroll in and end the war?" Flight asked from where he lay on the floor, propped up on an elbow.

First Aid, Skydive and Silverbolt considered this, the image of Prowl blowing his logic centre and battle computer at the idea of the suggestion drifted across four CPU's and the cabin was again filled with laughter.


	7. How to perplex a Prime

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this folks but my muse went on an unscheduled holiday! It's come back now but brought a flu/fever thing with it so the stuff I'm taking for that might be more than a little visible in the spaced out offering below.

**Elenarcherss:** ooppss that's a case of the Author not keeping track of who's where. Sling's still being yelled at by Prime it should have been Dive mentioning the virus sorry.

**VAwitch & arjemix:** I'm totally sold on the Flight/Sandy paring so expect to see at least one more chap staring these two.

x

x

Optimus Prime contemplated the wall opposite his desk. It was grey, functional, slightly scratched and sporting a few dents where thrown data pads and other objects had impacted, its only decoration a picture Jazz had brought back from a mission for him. Not a particularly inspiring vista but it was solid, unmoving, a real object that his CPU could grasp and comprehend. Its very unremarkable nature helped ground him, reassured him that the war hadn't yet cost him his sanity, which was a good deal more than could be said for the report burning its way slowly into the screen in front of him.

Squaring his shoulders, he made another attempt to read the report all the way through. This first part dealing with the mission was fine, written in Prowl's unmistakable style, it set out the how's, why's, who's and where's of what had happened. Where things started getting strange was half way through the final analysis. There were several spelling and grammar errors, things hitherto unheard of in a report written by Prowl. The sentences got progressively more and more disjointed and the flow of ideas broke up. Prime got to the point where Prowl's writing ended mid paragraph, the next was in a very different but equally recognisable hand. The first time he'd read it, this abrupt change had given him a serious case of pump stutter, the only reasons he could think of for Jazz writing tactical analysis' were all bad. True, the report flowed better under Jazz's fingers than it had under Prowl's but he still kept waiting for the part detailing the death of his second in command. What he'd got was, well, he was still trying to wrap his processor round the words. Glaring at the screen he re-read the rather short and terse paragraph that described the extent of Prowl's injuries and the extraordinary measures Jazz had used to get him to have them treated.

Prime lent back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling; vorns of experience with both mechs told him that there must have been one almighty unmaker of a row. He wished he could have witnessed it. Prowl and Jazz rarely had all-out fights and when they did it was the only show in town, and the aftermath must have been just a tempestuous. Prowl hated being idle and Jazz could be utterly immovable when he felt he had to be, throw in the twins and the Wreakers and you were guaranteed a show that would make Unicron smile. Making a mental note to obtain a copy of the security logs at any cost, Prime ploughed on. The next few paragraphs, while not outright accusing any mech of actual wrongdoing, came so close as to make it a moot point. The bit about having to confine Prowl to the brig still made his processor glitch slightly and the phrase beginning 'After many escape attempts I was compelled to' had made his CPU fritz out completely. This time he'd made it passed both those paragraphs without having to stop and assure himself that reality hadn't just taken a quick break. But now, reading the first few words of Topspin's medical recommendations, Prime wasn't sure if reality had been lying to him about still being on the job.

Half a joor later, Prime stopped laughing and put in a very shaky call to Ratchet. Something just had to be done about Topspin's lack of official medical rank, especially in view of his recommendations and Ratchet would oblige if only because this looked like the longest period of 'leave' anyone had been able to make Prowl take since the start of the war. Pushing himself more up in his chair, he began to do some plotting of his own -if Jazz, as devious, underhand and ruthless mech as was ever sparked, had trouble holding Prowl, he was going to have to put some fairly hefty precautions in place before taking delivery of his currently ex-second in command. Not to mention plans for eventually restoring Prowl to duty, he grinned behind his mask. The hopefully quiet and subtle games his other officers would play to get on that jury should liven up what had become a rather tedious existence, since the Decepticons were to busy with internal strife to launch any major offensives. Carefully saving the report where it could be easily found he heard Ratchets unmistakeable footsteps resounding down the corridor. Quickly he ran a hard copy of the last section of the report. This had to been seen to be believed.

The door chime sounded and Prime called out "Enter."


	8. How to graduate from Med school

A/N: this is a continuation from the last chapter, for all those who requested a Ratchet centric chapter this was supposed to be it but the other medics got in on the act but I will write a Ratchet one at some point, cross my spark and hope to rust!

**Guess:** yeah I suppose so, or may be the St Johns Ambulance?

**Dragon34: **Prowl gets his revenge for all this humiliation in a very elegant way, watch this space.

**Kittona:** the report? Very, very carefully. Jazz is a master of making one sentence say five different things, if he decides to share with me I'll post it.

Smacks self upside of the head: I keep forgetting to credit my beta reader here so thanks, energon goodies and endless appreciation to RumbleStrip for smoothing my horrible punctuation and spelling into readable prose. Also I wish I did, but I don'town them.

x

x

Wheeljack looked up as Ratchet stumbled dazedly into the repair bay. Despite the number of shifts worth of recharge he had, he still looked like a half deactivated drone. His intakes were rattling, his optics were a faded blue and his face had lines of dried energon and coolant streaked down both cheeks.

"Ratchet?" Wheeljack asked, concerned "Should you be on duty like this?"

In response, Ratchet waived a few pages of plasfilm at him and stuttered "J, Jazz, P, P, Prowl, 'Spin" in a voice that crackled with static.

Wheeljack looked closely at Ratchet; yes, his optics were faded with exhaustion but deep in them danced the spark of life and joy more brightly and more vigorously than it had for vorns. Perceptor came out of the office and stopped short, surveying his colleague.

"In the most highly unusual combination of circumstances, that is almost precisely what First Aid says when I enquire about his status. He, however, does then append to that the names of Sandstorm, Springer and the Twins; may we obtain a more detailed explanation of this interest in a team not currently in residence or in direct contact with the hub?" Perceptor inquired.

Ratchet thrust the plasfilm into Wheeljack's hands and wheezed, "What's up with the kid?"

"He appears to be suffering from some form of induced hysteria," Perceptor informed him "he apparently answered an emergency call to Fireflight's quarters and when he returned to the repair bay, some time after the end of his shift, he was unable to form a coherent sentence. All the information I can gain from him is that list of names and the phrases 'Home Movie' and 'war winning weapon'"

Ratchet stared at Perceptor "Home movie?" he asked weakly, as if even half of what was hinted at in the report had actually happened and been captured for posterity.

A half strangled screech issued from Wheeljack's vocalizer and his legs gave out under him, resulting in a cascade of crashing equipment as the table he clipped overturned. Perceptor spun round and took in the sight. Wheeljack was sitting in the midst of devastated equipment shaking so hard that his armour actually rattled, his ear fins flickering madly and half smothered incoherent sounds issuing from his throat.

"Would someone please enlighten me, what precisely is so amusing?" Perceptor demanded irritably.

"Ratchet?" First Aid asked from the door.

Ratchet looked round at him, his mouth spread in a grin that would have looked more at home on Sideswipe's face and said "Home movie?"

First Aid nodded vigorously.

Ratchet tottered over to Wheeljack and extended a hand "Want to see how much is true?"

Wheeljack grasped the outstretched hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Balancing against each other, he and Ratchet made their way towards the office.

"Come on, Perceptor," Ratchet called over his shoulder "come and find out why when Jazz says jump, the only sensible response is 'how high?'"

­_---_

First Aid and Ratchet wandered out into the main bay, leaving a still quivering Perceptor and an offline Wheeljack in the office.

"So boss," First Aid asked "what are we going to do about the fact that, technically, Topspin isn't qualified to make the whole medically unfit diagnosis?"

Ratchet folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his upper arm, face folded into a thoughtful frown. Then with a flash of inspiration he headed back to the office, hauling Perceptor out by the arm and dumping him in a chair in front of the records console.

"I need to know how much time 'Spin's had as a medic in the field and just what kind of procedures he's done." Ratchet instructed him "Also I need a list of any procedures that he hasn't done that form part of the core medic training and just how good his med school grades were."

Perceptor, understanding in his optics, set to his analysis, tuning out the rest of the bay.

"And you," Ratchet said, turning to face First Aid "are going to get some recharge."

Noting the megawatt glare being directed at him, First Aid complied without a murmur of protest.

Just over a shift later, Ratchet was sat in his office listening to Perceptor confirming what he'd hoped for; that although technically Topspin hadn't qualified from med school, his field experience more than made up for it.

"So I can, justifiable and legally, sign his commissioning papers as a battle field medic class one, effective from, oh, at least half a vorn ago?" Ratchet asked, wanting to be absolutely sure about things.

Perceptor answer was short and to the point "Yes."

Ratchet stood with a satisfied and discomforting smile on his face. He strode over to the door, opened it and yelled "AID, 'JACK in here now!"

When the four of them were standing in his office, Ratchet pulled out a single sheet of plasfilm and a stylus. Signing the film with a flourish he passed both to Wheeljack, who read it, raised both optic ridges and added his signature beside the CMO's.

"I'll go and get the last of the Twin's confiscated high grade." Wheeljack said as he handed Perceptor the film.

Softly chuckling, the microscope laid down his mark on the film and presented it to First Aid. Aid read the formal document declaring Topspin a fully qualified medic and felt his own amusement rising. Carefully scribing his name in the last witness box he handed it back to Ratchet. Wheeljack came back in with four cubes of energon, which he distributed.

Raising his cube, Ratchet proposed "To Topspin, Prowl catcher extraordinaire."

The toast was echoed and all drank, then Ratchet, a truly devious grin plaster over his face, saluted his fellow medics with his cube and asked "So, ideas for keeping Prowl safely off duty?"

Powerglide, looking for an update on his fellow mini-bots, heard the laughter drifting from the office and felt a shudder go down his struts; that sound didn't bode well for any mech! So he spun on a heel and made tracks for the exit. It never paid to get on the wrong side of the CMO.


	9. How to restrain a recusant robot

**A/N:** After forcing me to write about the reactions of other Autobots my muse finally got the details from Jazz and Prowl about the events on Xantium, some task considering their officially not talking to each other right now.

**P.A.W.07:** Considering the way in which Prowl gets brought back aboard the Hub that is a prophetic comment.

**Kaekokat:** Hope my reply helped with the confusion and while the sparkling doesn't quite get his aft spanked here he might have preferred it to this!

**Arahsi:** My mind is a dark and twisted place full of rabid plot bunnies, but on the plus side it keeps me off the streets!

x

x

Prowl came back online to find himself staring up at the ceiling of one of Xantium's high security cells. Carefully testing each limb, he found that he was in no way restrained. Climbing to his feet he examined the walls of his cell- all too easy to get out of. He reached into a subspace pocket for a lock pick and found it empty. He spent several breems checking all his pockets and found that someone had very thoroughly searched him and removed everything, however harmless, from his subspace. Well, that wasn't the end of the universe- vorns of association with Jazz had taught him not to carry everything in his subspace anyway. Gently prying a thin armour panel open he fished around for the multi tool Jazz had made for him; hooking a finger around the cord that anchored it, he pulled and his optics widened as the end came up empty. So, Jazz had told whoever had searched him about it. He grinned slightly; being sneaky wasn't a talent limited to saboteurs. Replacing the panel he proceeded to open various concealed compartments in his body- all of them came up empty.

"We were very careful to empty everything." Jazz's voice echoed in the enclosed space.

Prowl spun round and glared at the black and white who was leaning up against the far wall of the cell, still sporting the dents he'd received in the lift. For a breem, silence filled the room as both officers stared at each other.

"I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't chain me to the walls." Prowl growled.

"Springer wanted to do a lot worse than that to you for messing with Xantium's core. They're still fixing bugs caused by your fragging about." Jazz shot back.

Prowl grinned nastily "Well that'll keep them too busy to deface helpless officers."

"You're not an officer anymore, Sparkling." Jazz's told him in a cold voice.

"Helpless mechs then." Prowl retorted "And just when are you going to stop this charade and allow me to resume my duties?"

Jazz's smile made Prowl's tank sink. "When Prime and a legally convened court marshal have tried you for recklessly endangering your fellow Autobots and Ratchet and co have cleared you medically."

"You wouldn't," Prowl hissed, narrowing his optics.

"I have." Jazz said smugly "That's why you're in here instead of back in the repair bay."

Prowl felt his door wings rise in anger, his whole frame stiffening as he stared at the insufferably pleased smile on Jazz's face.

"I was not reckless." Prowl finally declared.

"Save it for your defense speech, Sparkling." Jazz advised, pushing away from the wall and stalking over to the tactician, backing him up against the wall. "So far that's all that's on your sheet. Play nice and maybe I'll be able to talk Springer into dropping charges."

Two sets of optics locked in a silent battle of wills. Finally, Prowl glanced away. Jazz nodded and walked towards the door.

"I'm sorry Prowl," Jazz said, pausing to look back over his shoulder. "I didn't actually mean for all this to happen. I- I just couldn't face the thought of loosing you." He rapped a code on the inside of the door, which was promptly opened from outside and closed just as swiftly behind him.

Prowl slowly slid down the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees, cursing himself for getting caught. A court marshal for something as serious as reckless endangerment would ruin his reputation forever, and while he had been very, very careful, keeping more CPU time scanning the surrounding space for Decepticons than he had focused on the slag he was doing to the Wreckers, he knew he'd made enough enemies amongst the officer corps over the vorns that a large number of mechs would use this to undermine him, even if he was unconditionally cleared of all charges.

He was certain that Smokescreen would squash anything that jumped up pad-pusher Hummer tried to pull and Trailbreaker was more than a match for the word twisting Spots delighted in engaging in but he didn't want to put his fellow officers to the trouble. A thought hit him with the force of Armageddon- Bluestreak. Oh Primus, Blue got enough flak from other mechs for their relationship as it was. If Prowl went down for whatever charges Jazz had laid against him, Blue would be devastated personally and provide the bullies of the ranks with an even more vulnerable target. In that astrosecond, Prowl decided that whatever happened to him, he would do his best to protect the young gunner from the consequences.

His only option was to get to Prime before the report of what had happened did, and that wasn't going to happen while he was stuck in this cell. Surreptitiously, he scanned the cell for cameras and weaknesses. Satisfied that he could not be observed, he rested his head back against the wall and began scanning for Xantium's wireless network frequency.

---

Scoop was bored; with Prowl in solitary confinement in the brig, there wasn't anything to offer a distraction to a mech on security camera detail. A flash of white drew his optics to the screen showing the main corridor in the brig. Scoop did a quick check and found that Jazz was deep in a restless recharge in his quarters. A sense of foreboding settled in his CPU and Scoop redirected a camera to show him the door to Prowl's cell. It was closed but a life sign scan revealed that the room was empty.

"Springer," Scoop called, toggling the intercom, "we have a runner. Prowl's on the prowl, looks like he's headed for the receiving bay."

A string of curses erupted from the other end of the com and Scoop saw Springer and the twins exit the rec room at a flat out run, headed for the co-ordinates Scoop gave them.

_---_

Jazz stood in the cell watching as 'Spin carefully closed up Prowl's helmet.

"There, one disconnected radio transmitter. He isn't going to be able to hack anything else." 'Spin announced as he got to his feet, catching Jazz's concerned expression he reassured him "he'll be fine, give him a joor or two and he'll be rattling his cage again."

"Did you also disconnect his transfer cables?" Jazz asked distractedly.

"Yes, if he wants to get out again it'll have to be by the old fashioned method of physically breaking out." 'Spin told him.

Jazz's shoulders sagged downwards. "Somehow, 'Spin, that doesn't reassure me."

_---_

"Why," Whirl demanded "does this slagging tactician always wait until most of us are in recharge before making a bid for freedom?"

"Psychology; a mech pulled out of recharge is slower off the mark," Sandstorm replied examining the twisted remains of the chains that had fastened Prowl to the wall of the cell. "I think we're going to have to resort to energon restraints here, somehow he's melted the lock."

"Perhaps we should take a leaf out of Ratchet's book," Twin Twist mused, keeping a firm hold on the offline Prowl "and weld him directly to the wall."

"Your just sore that 'Spin's gonna have to spend time hammering out your dents." Whirl sniggered.

"I'm not the one with the broken optic." Twist shot back.

"Yeah, yeah, you both got your afts handed to you by the Sparkling." Sandstorm snapped, tired of the sniping the two of them had been engaging in since the short but fierce fight. "Shut the frag up, both of you. Twist, hold him up against the wall here. Whirl, stand here and hold his arm out while I try and make sure this is the last time we have to do this."

_---_

"Bogie in the weeds!" Sideswipe's cry had every mech on Xantium cursing and headed for what was fast becoming Prowl's favorite escape destination.

"Frag him," Springer grumbled under his breath "what is his fascination with the bay anyway?"

"Glitched if I know," Jazz replied, pounding down the corridor beside the triplechanger. "What's in there?"

"Nothing much. The atmosphere rated cutters, a short range supply shuttle, lots of empty bays and our single long range scout." Springer reeled off the list of Xantium's small ships.

Jazz skidded to a halt so fast that Springer had to throw himself into a sideways roll to avoid a collision. Gaining his feet, he turned to stare at the saboteur.

"What?" Springer demanded.

"Oh Prowl," Jazz sighed, understanding and compassion in his optics. "It's my fault, Springer."

"And again please, this time with the explanation." Springer asked, faintly amused.

Jazz shook his head and looked up into Springer's optics "Do you know how many mechs would delight in bringing Prowl down?"

Springer mutely shook his head; he and Prowl disagreed about many things and didn't exactly get along mech to mech but he respected the tactician's competency and ability to make and stick with hard choices.

"Lots," Jazz answered his own question sadly. "They think he got and keeps his position by," he trailed off and waved a hand in surprisingly descriptive circles, "with, well just about anyone and everyone higher up the command chain."

Springer laughed, "Then they're obviously thinking about a Prowl neither of us have met. He earned that job the hard way and he keeps it by being that good."

Jazz nodded "You know that and I know that but there are those who don't, who think they could do a better job and that they deserve the chance to prove it."

"Like to see 'em try" Springer muttered under his vocalizer.

"Well, he figures that this could be their chance, and I'll bet my spark he's trying to reach Prime and explain before ma report does." Jazz was staring at the deck, a guilty expression etched into his face.

"Your report? The one that says, having dragged him down to the repair bay to get his injuries treated and keep him there to recover, he became the target for every prank going and in the end, for everyone's safety, we had to lock him in the brig?" Springer sounded incredulous. "I fail to see why he's so worked up about that."

Jazz shuffled his feet and stayed silent; Springer arched an optic ridge and looked expectantly at him.

"I, um, I kinda told him we'd laid a reckless endangerment charge against him." Jazz confessed, still not meeting Springer's optics.

"Why?" Springer asked.

Jazz mumbled something inaudible; Springer just went on staring at him.

"Rather petty revenge." Jazz finally said shamefaced.

"For the lift tumble?" Springer couldn't quite stop his lips twitching; if nothing else he was seeing an utterly new side to both officers.

"No!" Jazz snapped back, visor flashing. "For the times the slagger's had me convinced that as soon as I get back from a job I'm gonna be up against the wall, no trial, no chance to explain, just ten guns aimed at ma spark."

Springer winced at the thought, Prowl really did have a mean streak.

Jazz sighed "I guess I should 'fess up."

Springer put out a hand and caught Jazz's arm "I think he can stand a little more psychological torture, and I've an idea about keeping him safe."

Jazz tilted his head and gazed at the triplechanger.

Springer grinned nastily "Ask Sandy about the Alcyone horror flick and how we could apply its principles to our beloved if … wayward … Sparkling."


	10. How to turn the tide

**A/N:** I'm so sorry about how long it's taken me to write this, Ironhide and my muse have been trying to kill each other and my brain had been chasing off after the shiny at every opportunity. Hopefully it's not going to happen again. A thousand million thanks to all my reviewers and readers for sticking with this, as requested by Bluebird Soaring Ironhide gets to do guard duty and tell stories, and the 'Free Prowl' campaign is born!

The author would like to point out that no innocent (or otherwise) mechs were harmed in the making of the film mentioned below; some mech should remember that not every vehicle they come across is sentient.

* * *

Ironhide stood watching as Xantium gracefully slid to a stop by her docking tube. Behind him he could hear the shuffling and low pitched conversation of the security detail Red had assigned to this duty. He grinned, keeping his face forward so that no one would see it; the bare bones of what had happened had run through the Hub in less than a joor and every mech in the security force had been scrambling for a place of this prisoner escort job ever since. The hiss of breaking airlock seals brought his attention back to business. He'd read the details of Prowl's many and mostly successful escapes carefully and had prepared counter plans accordingly; no way was he going to loose such an important prisoner and certainly not before he could be safely delivered to Ratchet's tender mercies.

The sound of a constant staggering scuffle drifted down the boarding tube; Prowl, it seemed, was not going to go with quiet dignity. Ironhide braced himself to deal with a struggle but as the group staggered out of the tube it was all he could do to maintain his stance. Roadbuster and Whirl came first with Springer and Twin Twist bringing up the rear, carrying between them Prowl, bound on top of two metal poles. In his alt mode. Ironhide knew the Prowl's alt mode had wheels, but those wheels where currently invisible behind squares of metal that folded around the tires and locked in place at the back of the wheels, rendering them immobile. The tactician however was rocking on his suspension violently trying to win free of his restraints, causing the whole group to stagger around like a group of overcharged mechs trying to get back to their quarters.

A particularly violent twist on Prowl's part sent Springer to his knees, causing the whole group to overbalance and go crashing to the ground with Prowl on top, revving his engine and struggling to win free of the metal clamps that held him to the poles. Ironhide beckoned to the detail behind him as they rushed over to remove the tactician from the heap of Wreckers. The instant Prowl felt himself lift into the air he began flinging his weight around again, trying to topple this new collection of bearers. More of the security detail crowded round, reaching a hand to steady the poles or bracing colleagues who had a hand on them.

"What the Pit is going on here?" Prime's voice brought order to chaos.

The tactician sagged on his suspension, all the fight draining out of him. With a few gestures and quiet commands Ironhide gave orders to the pile of guards- four to carry the tactician and the rest in a neat square around to prevent Prowl escaping or for anyone to take advantage of his inability to defend himself.

"Prowl, what is the meaning of this behaviour?" Prime demanded, marching over to the now orderly group.

Prowl's response was a high-pitched whining of his engine.

Prime raised an optic ridge and in a voice that was frigid with disapproval said "I asked you a question."

A more desperate revving of the engine was the answer; Prime squared his shoulders and looked as though, to Ironhide's experienced optics, he was about to launch into a long lecture. Subtly widening his stance and settling more comfortably on the pistons in his ankles Ironhide mental prepared himself to have his audios melted by boredom, when a new voice interrupted the impending speech.

"He can't answer you," Jazz informed Prime as he exited the tube "we all got so fragged off with him cursing and raving that we deactivated his vocaliser."

Prime studied the carefully blank face of the head of special ops, flicked his optics to the visibly drooping tactician, taking in a quick survey of the attentive audios and optics of the guards.

"Jazz, Springer, my office now," Prime commanded "Ironhide, take Prowl to the brig and stay there, I'll be down shortly."

Ironhide drew himself to attention, saluted and led the procession out, choosing the roads less travelled to avoid humiliating Prowl further.

* * *

Ironhide lounged against the wall, watching the dropping tactician through the bars; it had been a shift and a half since he'd dismissed the security detail and settled in to wait for Prime. He was getting well and truly bored of the enforced silence, talking to a mech who couldn't answer had gone stale fast. In fact, if pressed, Ironhide would have had to admit to dozing off on duty when from the depths of his memories the image of long dry lectures given by old mechs who'd never held a weapon, let alone fired one, surfaced, dragging with it a possible answer to his communication problems.

Carefully hunting down the relevant sub routines, Ironhide began establishing a carrier wave with Prowl's CPU. The tactician started and shuddered in his bonds at the unexpected broadcast but quickly recognised what Ironhide was trying to do and after a few seconds handshaking they were connected.

_/And old Cipher reckoned that text based communication was never going to be a useful skill/_ Ironhide sent a wide grin twisting his lips.

_/Where did you learn it? / _Prowl hesitantly transmitted back.

_/Getting bored in class/ _Ironhide confessed _/ Where the pit did Jazz come up with this method of restraining ya? /_

Prowl shuddered and his engine whined in distress, static flooding the channel. Ironhide's compassionate streak leapt into the control seat and he switched off the bars and knelt by the whimpering shivering mech running a calming hand over his roof and murmuring soft nonsense until the fit passed.

_/Not Jazz, Sandstorm. He, he has some rather, ruthless, associates/_ even in the medium of plain text, Prowl's distress was plain.

Ironhide raised both optic ridges and silently invited the other mech to continue.

_/He was a 'guest' of some gang in the back side of Ahsma and to 'amuse themselves' they/_ Prowl shuddered and static spat and hissed across the line _/they showed him an 'educational' film. /_

"An educational film?" Ironhide asked aloud "I always thought you were all for education."

_/This wasn't education! /_Prowl sent, a low shuddering growl from his engine filling the cell _/this group captured a defenceless mech, trapped in his alt from and, and/_

Prowl ceased transmitting and rocked against his restraints, static flooding the line, his lights flashing in distress. Ironhide silently worried; it took a lot to unsettle Prowl, even slightly. Whatever this film was had really done a number on him.

_/They bound him like this so he couldn't escape, deactivated his vocaliser and then stripped him alive. /_ Prowl's transmission was so faint that Ironhide had to parse it three times before he had all the words.

The security officer stared at Prowl in horror, his imagination running wild with images of torture.

_/They ripped out his seats, dismantled his engine, acid stripped his shell and/ _Prowl was shuddering uncontrollably, his engine spluttering irregularly _/then when they were done, they, compacted him/_

The last three words rocked Ironhide to his spark; of all the ways to go, crushed to death was the one that regularly hauled him out of recharge in fear. Shock and fear were fast replaced by anger.

"They threatened you with torture?" Ironhide demanded, his voice hard with fury.

_/No./_ Prowl transmitted hurriedly, rocking from side to side _/Whirl took considerable delight in telling me all the gruesome details, but that's all. /_

Ironhide decided that things had gone far enough; he pulled a laser welder out of his subspace and began burning through the metal bars holding Prowl. As the last of the restraining bars fell away, Prowl slowly transformed, stretching each joint and servo to check for damage.

_/Thank you, but aren't you afraid I'll run for it? / _Prowl queried.

"Kinda," Ironhide replied "but I figure you were tryin' ta get ta Prime."

Prowl nodded a resigned look on his face, rose to his feet and began to pace.

Prowl stopped pacing to face Ironhide, looking him in the optics, _/I know Jazz stripped me of my rank but if I gave you my word as an officer and a gentlemech that I won't attempt to escape your custody, will you allow me the freedom of this cell? /_

"Ya'll always be an officer and a gentlemech ta me Prowl, no need ta ask." Ironhide responded

The relief on Prowl's face was spark-felt. _/Thank you. /_

Ironhide made himself comfortable against the wall of the cell and watched as Prowl paced and stretched, relief at being able to move radiating from him in almost solid waves.

_/Talk to me? /_ Prowl's sudden transmission after almost half a groon of silence took Ironhide by surprise.

"Uh?" was the only sound Ironhide could produce. Prowl after all was not known for indulging in idle talk.

_/I've endured cycles of solitary, unable to communicate in any way, with anyone. A friendly voice is something I'd welcome. /_ Prowl sent, setting himself down beside Ironhide.

Ironhide processed the statement and found himself growing angry at Jazz for permitting such abuse of a mech that had defended him more times than Ironhide could track.

"Well," Ironhide drawled "with the twins out of the way life's been less interesting than usual."

* * *

Prime stood in the open door of the cell, staring at the sight before him. Ironhide was sat on the floor with Prowl slumped against him deeply in recharge.

"Strange way of keeping guard." Prime said softly so as not to wake Prowl.

"More compassionate and effective than anything those slaggers tried." Ironhide growled back.

Prime raised both optic ridges at the anger in Ironhide's voice. Jazz and Springer had been very careful with their report and he needed Prowl's version of events before he decided what to do next.

"How long's he been in recharge?" Prime asked.

"A couple of groons," Ironhide told him "not long enough ta make up for all the recharge he lost on Xantium."

"Take him down to Ratchet and get his vocaliser fixed and the rest of him checked out." Prime ordered, "I'll talk to him when Ratchet clears it."

With the utmost care, Ironhide slid out from under Prowl and lifted him off the floor. Carefully he traversed the back halls, shielding Prowl from other mechs and femmes. The less used door to the repair bay came into view and Ironhide let a deep chamber full of air cycle through his vents, the sound causing Prowl to stir and online.

"Prime's orders; I'm taking you to Hatchet ta get that vocaliser back online and anything the kid might have missed, fixed." Ironhide reassured the mech in his arms.

Prowl nodded drowsily and slipped back into recharge, a trusting action that tugged on Ironhide's spark and strengthened his resolve to help the tactician in anyway he could. Walking into the bay he caught Ratchet's optics immediately, walking over to the bunk, the medic indicated he set Prowl down and relayed Prime's orders before leaving in search of a mech he knew he could count on in his Support Prowl campaign.

* * *

"Ya got five?" Ironhide asked the mech sitting at the bank of monitors.

"You want to talk about Prowl?" the mech replied.

"Yep." Ironhide confirmed, moving into the room, allowing the doors to close behind him.

"Take a seat." The other instructed as he reached out a hand to activate the security lock and Primus only knew what other anti-intrusion measures.

Ironhide sat waiting for the mech to give him his full attention.

"So, what did he tell you that's eating your CPU?" Red Alert asked.


End file.
